


Sinking (In Your Depths and Mine)

by Razzbury_Writes



Series: DreamNotFound Fics :) [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Angst, Character Death, Dream is Jack and George is Rose, Drunkenness, Fluff and Angst, Gambling, Heart of the Ocean (Titanic), Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Titanic (1997), Lime, Lower Class!Dream, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mild Sexual Content, Mild mentions of current abuse, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, RMS Titanic, Smoking, Strong Language, Suicidal Thoughts, Titanic (1997) Spoilers, Titanic AU, Titanic References, Upper Class!George, dreamnotfound, mcyt - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzbury_Writes/pseuds/Razzbury_Writes
Summary: The year is 1912 and history is about to be made in more ways than one.Or: That DreamNotFound Titanic AU I wanted to make months ago but couldn't because I never watched the movie until February.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: DreamNotFound Fics :) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197128
Kudos: 6





	Sinking (In Your Depths and Mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Sinking (In Your Depths and Mine) is a DreamNotFound Titanic AU.  
> This will be cross-posted to my Wattpad, @Razzbury_Writes.  
> Please be respectful to the CCs mentioned in this story. This is a work of fiction, and both Dream and George have mentioned that they are okay with shipping. If their views ever change on this subject I will be taking this down.
> 
> Possible Trigger Warnings may include:  
> Consumption of alcohol, drunkenness, smoking, light mentions of abuse, strong language, death of both major and minor characters, suicide (of a minor character), and implications/references of sexual activities.  
> !Only chapters including death, suicide, and sexual activities will be marked!  
> Please stay safe. :)
> 
> There is no update schedule for this work, as I will be focusing on finishing my other currently published stories before continuing this on a steady agenda. For now, enjoy the first chapter and thank you for being here.

_The year is 1912 and history is about to be made in more ways than one._

From the simple docks of Southampton, England, excitement rings through the air. It was nearly impossible to walk across the wooden peer, the depth of the crowd gathered beside the sea being much too dense to traverse easily. Every so often the people would part to let those of a higher class pass through, but quickly the space would fill once again by anxiously awaiting citizens.

All around there are luggage carts and carriers filled with crates of all sizes. Butlers scatter around, helping the rich unload their carriages and make their way safely to the departure banks. Other workers were busy combing through people's hair or rummaging through luggage, ensuring that no smuggled or illegal goods were being stowed away.

A handful of men were stationed beside each post, their duty being that of watching the ramps to keep any non-passengers from sneaking aboard. Cops stood by, the intent of keeping everybody in order marked clearly across their stern faces.

Men and women and children alike. Young, old, and all of those in between. A mixture of different races and classes. Everyone who was _anyone_ stood at the docks, the shadow of a ship so grand it was a privilege to even be able to see it in person—let alone _ride_ on it—casting over their astounded faces.

The ship of wonder. The ship that was deemed unsinkable.

The Titanic.

Soon, it would be taking off from the mere town in England, traveling across the great Atlantic and ending up at the shores of New York. Of America.

Nobody had ever seen something as exquisite, as well thought out, as simply _breathtaking_ as the great steamship. Tens of thousands of people stood staring up at the boat, yet less than half would get the opportunity to ride it.

The deck held quite a commotion as passengers entered and civilians yelled out to their loved ones, bidding them safe journeys and farewells. It was a day that was sure to make the books, one that people from all over the world would remember. A day of great importance, one that the people would _crave_ to be a part of.

Yet, instead of joining the ruckus right across the street from an old bar that little old Clay Pierce had been regularing as of recently, the boy in question was sitting at a grimy, old oak table, cigar hanging loosely from in between his lips, face pulled into a look of pure and utter concentration as he inhaled the smoke. Three other men sat at the table, though they weren't as good at hiding their uneasy exteriors as Clay was. His face was cold, only emotion peeking out from behind his metaphorical mask being that of _smugness_.

A deck of cards had been dealt into a game of Poker, a heavy prize sitting square in the middle of the small group. It consisted of every last penny Clay had, a silver locket, two packs of cigarettes, an old lighter, and two tickets for the very ship that settled outside of the building.

All he had to do was _win_ , to not fuck it up like he had done all too many times in the past, and the next chapter of his life would be set in stone.

Crossing the ocean and traveling back to his homeland in general would be a dream for the young man, but doing so on the monumental boat that was the Titanic? Being able to mingle with the rich and drink from fine China that had never _once_ been used before? To run across the large decks and hang over the edges of the railing, cool, salty air parting his hair as if he were flying across the water? And all for _free_?

It would be _marvelous_.

The man to his left, Nick, was bouncing his leg up and down in anticipation as he took a drag from the bud held up by his thumb and pointer finger. He and Clay had known each other for quite some time, always somehow running into the other, though to neither of their chagrin. After a load of close calls and a few rough meetings, the two decided to start sticking together. And stick together they had. He was Clay's best mate; a lovely companion with a fine sense of humor.

The other two men appeared to be traveling together as well, speaking little English, communicating through their actions rather than words. The larger of the pair turned his head to scour the tables beside them, reaching over to grab a full shot glass from a nearby sleek surface. He downed it and placed the empty glass back down before the owner could realize it had ever gone missing.

They didn't seem the most confident, though one could never be too careful.

Clay let his eyes flicker down to the lucky hand he was gripping tightly in between his fingers. It was as if a simple jostle of his shoulder would cause them to drop and fade away completely, ruining his chances of winning.

He leaned back in his chair, propping one leg up on an empty spot on the table. With the hand not clamping down on his cards, he ran it through his shaggy dirty blond hair, army green eyes practically jumping with both nerves and _excitement_.

"Well, fellas? It was a good run, but it appears this is where we must wrap things up. You know damn well two of our lives are gonna end up changing today. For the better," Clay turned his head towards Nick, giving him a satisfied nod, "or the worse." He let his hard gaze fall on the foreign men, grin seeping with lighthearted malice.

Clay raised an eyebrow, waiting for them to go around respectively. Nick dropped his hand down first, shaking his head at the poor deal staring menacingly back up at him.

"Shit man, I don't got a lot this time."

The shorter man who sat directly across from Clay threw his own down as well, mumbling curses under his breath. He reached out for his half-full glass, finishing off the substance in seconds with a grim face.

"Well?" Clay gestured with his head to the final man's cards, awaiting the revelation. He grunted before slamming them down with an equally ill-hearted smile.

"Two pair," he spoke in a rough, heavily accented voice. Clay heard Nick suck in a gasp of air, his foot tapping against the scummy ground all the quicker. Clay let out a low whistle, flicking the corner of one of his cards lightly.

"Well, Nick... I hate to say this but maybe we didn't make the right decision here." Nick's eyes went wide and he shook his head vigorously, all sorts of profanities escaping from his lips. He rubbed out the last of his cigarette on the edge of the table before flicking it to the side where it landed near a bartender's foot.

"Fuck man, I knew we shouldn't have put in all our dough. What're we supposed to do now?" The two dark-haired men from across the wood sneered, clearly satisfied with the way things were playing out. When one started cockily reaching to gather the coins, but Clay leaned forward and smacked his head, grinning from ear to ear.

"Not so fast, you still have yet to see _my_ hand." They wrinkled their nose but sat back, urging him to go on with what little patience they had left.

"Clay... what are you getting at?—"

Clay cut Nick off, throwing down his cards that were held so graciously in his hand with a gleeful cheer, relishing in the looks of shock he got because it was a—

"Full house."

Jovial laughter hooted from Nick, astounded and peeved and relieved _all_ at the same time as he punched Clay's shoulder.

"You sick bastard! Putting on a show like that? You had me scared I was gonna need to go back to stealing from old man Henderson's corner store again." Clay shrugged his shoulders with a not-so-sheepish smirk.

"What can I say? I had to put the self-assured dickwads in place, now didn't I?" The two are chuckling boisterously, ready to make a move to regain their coins and study their newly acquired tickets when the table moves, getting thrown back slightly. One of the men still across from them is towering over Clay, fist raised and face painted in sheer violence.

Bracing himself, Clay raised an arm to shield his face, readying the other to attack back if provoked. This wasn't his first rodeo, he knew a thing or two about bar-fights. He could take him.

But the blow never came. Instead, there was a shift. The hit lands on the man's "companion" and then they're arguing in a language Clay cannot understand yet doesn't need to to know what the venom in his tone implied.

Another glance to Nick followed by a new round of laughter ensued as they cleared the table of their winnings.

"We're going back to America!" Nick shouted happily. Like Clay, Nick had crossed the sea at a young age to start up a new life, though having to fend for himself when the man who he had traveled with—his father—passed away. But now? Now they would get to go _back_. After sucking every possible experience they could out of the Europe, they were ready to pick life back up however it chose to present itself in the new land. Nick raised his hand for a high-five, and they do, though just as they're about to continue their celebration, a deeper voice grabs their attention.

"You lads best get going if you want to catch that there boat. I suppose you'll have..." the man—a customer who had been watching the whole game unfold—looked up at the rusty clock hanging from the wall in the corner. "about fifteen minutes at most to catch it."

The boys gasped in unison, hastily double-checking their earnings before thanking the man and bidding their opponents (who were still arguing) a goodbye. The second they were out the door fresh air tickled their noses rather than that of the cloudy bar. It smelled like _freedom_. They were moving on from the confines of the old town for what felt like the first time in forever.

"We're going to America!" Nick yelled out as they dashed through the streets. The only people left on the pavement were those there only to wave off the boat and its passengers. That wasn't a good sign.

"We are! We are!" Clay still called back, trying to eye his way around and find the quickest route to the steel means of transportation they would call their home for the next few weeks.

While running, Clay pulled out the tickets, reading and rereading over the information presented. They were for the lowest class, most likely meaning that they would not be alone in their cabin but that would be alright with them so long as they just _got to the ship in time_.

"Nick! Over here!" Clay shouted, grabbing his friend's elbow and changing their direction. The staff was starting to pull off the large ropes securing the extravagant boat to the deck, and the last ramp was slowly drifting from the actual entrance.

Throwing out quick apologies and half-assed explanations as they weaved through the cheering people, both boys finally made it to the edge of the deck where they could finally board.

Clay led the way, dropping Nick's arm but still staying as close as possible while they pounded up the path to their way out of that dreadful town. Two men stood at the end, eyeing them cautiously.

"Passengers! We are passengers!" Nick pleaded, pointing at the tickets in Clay's hand which were quickly held up.

"Yes, right here! See?" One of the men nodded slowly, glancing at the other before sighing.

"And you boys went through the inspection?"

"Of course we did, sir."

A nonverbal conversation ensued, playing out through the men's eyes before one nodded.

"Very well, do watch your step and have a wonderful journey."

Clay and Nick were ecstatic.

They quickly crossed the small gap between the ramp and the boat, laughing as they dropped into an overly fancy entryway. The walls were made of wood, penny brown and shined to perfection. There were dozens of other men crowded together, shoulder to shoulder, some sitting and others talking with the workers who were manning the entryway. A mini-chandelier hung above them, despite the room being used for nothing but greetings.

A servant did just that, welcoming them to the Titanic. _The Titanic. They had actually done it._ Nick pulled at Clay's sleeve, forcing the other to look down at him.

"C'mon dude, I wanna see the deck!"

The two pushed each other down the halls, ramming into other passengers without a care in the world as they continued to laugh and whoop at how _goddamn lucky they were_. It was a complex ship, that was for sure, each hallway like a maze meant to keep them from reaching their wanted destination. But soon, after being pointed in the right direction by a young maid, they both ended up outside once again.

The cool ocean breeze whipped against their cheeks, painting them a soft red as they made their way towards the edge of the boat. The crowd they had been a part of mere minutes ago stood well beneath them, waving frantically as the ship started to sail.

Distantly, Clay believed he saw the two foreign men outside of the bar, stumbling around and seeming to stress, but he pushed that thought away and focused on yelling out to the other civilians. That's why you don't gamble such precious things, but goddammit was Clay thankful that they had.

"Goodbye! Bye!" Farewells swarmed their ears, Clay going as far ad to stand up on a ledge and lean over the railing. They were free, free, _free_ , and something about the wind rushing so carelessly through his hair only proved that.

And so, on the tenth of April in 1912, Clay Pierce set off with the Titanic, wishing not only to be a part of history but to make one of his own. A history for himself, one he could pass on and overexaggerate to his children, and then theirs, and theirs and then on.

He would make the most of the journey, wouldn't take advantage of the little things handed to him throughout it.

He wouldn't mess up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with silly sports of his past. There was no reason to dwell on that, no reason to sink deeper into the dread that English town gave him.

He could only look ahead at what the future would bring.

Because, surely, when you hit rock bottom, the only way left to go is up.


End file.
